Delirium

He lay there in his room. Lights out. The only civilization around was the silent creaking of the ceiling fan. He remembered the last time he'd had this debilitating fever. He wondered whether he was himself; whether his thoughts were his own. They swung without control. His thoughts were like twigs on a raging river. Everytime his music player played Iris, he felt as if all the love in the world was in his life, and when it switched to Nothingman, he felt it all drain away. Now his thoughts transcended the music. He remembered every time he had dreamed big, and his wings had been clipped without warning. But atleast he had dreamed.

And his thoughts swung between the good and the bad, the alpha and the omega, between the conscious and the unconscious; as Comfortably Numb faded in the background, death came and he passed calmly into oblivion...only to be reborn again tomorrow.